It had been a few weeks since Penelope’s wedding and she and Donny had just bought a town house in a new development in the Maryland suburbs of D.C. When they finally found her house, they couldn’t find any parking that didn’t threaten to take their firstborn if they didn’t have a parking permit for the development. Finally, they stumbled onto a visitors’ lot with an open space, and Linda started to park the car.
“You can’t park there, Linda,” Peter called from the backseat while pointing out an old Cadillac next to the open parking space. “Next to that big clunker? You’ll get your car nicked.”
“Oh, please,” Linda said, pulling the car into the spot. “I refuse to spend my life worrying about a scratch on my car. I’m not going to be like those freaks who take up two spaces or park in the boonies so they don’t scratch their precious car. It’s pathetic.”
“You mean like Peter does?” Gina joked as the three of them climbed out of the car and tried to huddle under one umbrella. The trio meandered toward the house with all the lights on and human shadows bobbing around behind the shades.
As they approached the party, they could hear the music coming from Penelope’s house.
“Hi, guys, it’s so good to see you,” Donny said as he opened the door for them. He was short and skinny with red hair and freckles. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He just sort of looked like a computer geek—one of those guys you might see in the parking garage of your office building and you just know they work in IS, even though you’ve never even seen them before.
“It’s good to see you too. We had to park in Peru and walk quite a ways to get here,” Gina replied with a smile, stepping through the doorway and closing the umbrella.
“The parking situation here kinda sucks,” Donny said before calling to Penelope.
“Gina!” Penelope screamed, running up to Gina and hugging her. She was obviously drunk. “I never see you anymore. God. I haven’t seen you since the wedding.” She briefly acknowledged Peter and Linda and pulled Gina aside. She began chatting incessantly about her wedding, their new house, and her job as a manager at Bloomingdale’s. Gina smiled and nodded as Penelope continued to babble. Gina wasn’t really paying attention. She was amazed at the number of people in Penelope’s house. She wondered when Penelope had met all these people—or were they all Donny’s friends? When had Penelope become outgoing, and when had she become a manager at Bloomingdale’s? The last time Gina saw her, she was still assaulting women with perfume as they walked through the cosmetics aisle. It had been a few weeks since Gina met David at Rio Grande, and he still hadn’t called her. So listening to Penelope banter on and on about Donny and her job wasn’t exactly making her feel better.
“Gosh. Things are really going well for you,” Gina said with a phony smile.
“I’m a lucky girl.”
Gina couldn’t stand it anymore. “Where can a girl get a drink around here?”
“Upstairs in the bathtub,” Penelope replied.
“Great. Well, excuse me for a moment,” Gina said, bound for the stairway. She passed Peter and Linda on their way down the stairs.
“I’m going to grab a beer, and I’ll meet you guys downstairs,” Gina said, feeling a little down about her life. Penelope was such an introvert when they met in college. Back then, Gina felt sorry for her and even made a point of including Penelope when she made social plans. All of a sudden it seemed like the tables had turned. Penelope was the one with the husband, great job, and cutesy little house in the ’burbs.
Gina stared at the selection of beers covered with ice in the bathtub and decided on some foreign-looking beer she had never heard of. As she reached for her beer, she noticed the quaintness of the room. Penelope had decorated the bathroom in lavender and, of course, the rug, towels, and shower curtain were all perfectly coordinated. She even had matching accessories—the soap dish, toothbrush holder, and even the trash can exquisitely complemented the lavender decor.
God, even her bathroom says I’m a happy-assed bitch, Gina thought to herself. As she popped the cap off with a bottle opener, the toilet paper roller caught her eye. After she stood in the bathroom for a few seconds contemplating such a silly idea, she peeked out the door and saw that no one was on the steps. Then she took a breath and frantically began pulling toilet paper off the roll and throwing it in the toilet. She looked again to make sure no one was coming and shoved even more paper in the toilet, all the while laughing hysterically. She peeked out the door one more time, calmed herself down a little, and flushed the toilet. She then nonchalantly walked down the steps with her beer and joined Linda and Peter in the kitchen. They were leaning against the counter, chatting with an older black woman dressed in some sort of traditional African attire.
Gina was amused with herself as well as worried. God, she really had lost her mind. First she’s sleeping with guys like Griffin, then she’s overflowing toilets at parties. A few minutes later she saw some fat girl whisper something to Penelope, who immediately got a disturbed look on her face and ran upstairs. Slowly, more and more of the party guests wanted to see what the ruckus was about.
“What’s going on?” Gina asked some stranger on the steps as if she had no idea what had happened.
“I think someone made the toilet overflow.”
“You’re kidding? God, that sucks,” Gina said with a perfectly straight face, and headed back to the kitchen. Eventually the commotion on the stairs ended, and Penelope appeared in the kitchen.
“The toilet overflowed?” Peter asked Penelope.
“Yeah. Some fuckhead must have had an ass the size of Milwaukee. He threw a slew of paper in the can.”
“That’s awful, Penelope. You never know what drunk people will do,” Gina said, relieved that Penelope had spoken of the culprit as a he. “I had a party a few years ago, and someone stole my shoes. Another time someone left a trail of chicken wings from my apartment to the elevator. You never know what will happen when you throw a party. People just have no respect.”
Responses
Cheryl shook out her umbrella before she walked into her apartment. It had been a long day, and the rain wasn’t helping matters. She hated the rain. The moment it so much as drizzled, people in D.C. somehow lost their ability to drive. Like Gina, she commuted from the city to her job in a neighboring suburb in Virginia. Driving into the city during evening rush hour certainly wasn’t as bad as driving out of it, but it was still heavy. More and more corporations were moving their headquarters to the suburbs of Virginia and Maryland, so, during rush hour, people were snarling traffic in every direction. To avoid the whole mess, Cheryl stopped at the Starbucks in Seven Corners, had a few cups of overpriced coffee, and read the paper before heading home.
She closed the door behind her, flicked on the floor lamp in the living room, and walked into the bedroom. She unbuttoned her suit jacket and laid it on the bed. She was probably one of the last people on earth whose company made her wear business suits to work. Every day, when she went to lunch and saw everyone else in casual slacks and knit tops, she contemplated finding a new job simply so she wouldn’t have to wear a suit every day. She had been with the same managed health care company for five years and recently got a nice promotion. She was now in charge of overseeing the implementation of new client accounts. It was her responsibility to make sure the appropriate phone lines were set up, brochures went out on time, staff were hired and trained to field calls from new members, etc.
The only advantage of a formal dress code at work was that changing into more comfortable clothes when she got home helped her let go of her work stress and feel more relaxed at home. She slipped off the rest of her suit, got rid of the heels and hose, and put on a T-shirt and shorts.
Much better, she thought as she pulled out the chair at her desk. She sat down and reached over to turn on the computer.
“God, this takes forever,” she mumbled to herself as her computer logged on to the Internet. She’d bought the PC from her company a couple of year
s earlier, when they upgraded to new machines. In the fast-changing computer industry, her unit was probably considered an antique. It was slow and crashed now and then, but, for the most part, it met her needs.
Cheryl logged in to her e-mail account. She was hoping she might have several responses to her ad, but after she sorted through all the junk mail, it looked like she had gotten only three.
“How nice,” she said sarcastically after she opened the first e-mail—a picture of a small erect penis. Under the picture was written “If you like what you see, let me know.”
“Delete!” Cheryl said to herself as she clicked on the message and dragged it to the little trash can on the screen.
“Hmm . . .” Cheryl mumbled as she read the second response. At least it sounded normal. Cheryl actually liked the response, until she realized it was canned. It wasn’t personalized to her at all.
This guy is probably mass-mailing this response all over the Internet, she thought as she finished reading the ad and clicked on the picture he had attached.
“Oh, my!” she said as the picture opened to reveal an extremely odd-looking elderly man. Cheryl also dragged this e-mail into the trash and clicked on the last one.
Hi! My name is Louis. I’m 30 years old and live in Falls Church, Virginia. I’m a restaurateur and enjoy my work, so we have a love for cooking in common. Like you, I’m mostly looking for new friends and then we can take it from there. I’m 5’10”, 165, brn/brn, fit/lean, Caucasian, and nonsmoking. I love movies, eating out, hiking, the beach, and quiet evenings at home. Would love to hear from you.
Cheryl wasn’t overly enthused by the response, but at least he seemed sane, and his stats were decent.
Well, beggars can’t exactly be choosers, she thought to herself as she clicked on the reply icon. She sent him a quick note telling him a little more about herself. She then asked him to provide more detail about himself and possibly a picture if a digital one was available.
“Keep your fingers crossed that he isn’t a freak,” Cheryl mumbled to herself as she clicked on the mouse to send her e-mail.
Commiserating
Gina and Linda said good night to Peter as they entered Gina’s apartment. Gina was somewhat depressed after seeing Penelope’s little Ozzie and Harriet existence, so she invited Linda and Peter to come in for a nightcap. Peter declined, saying that he thought he might be catching a cold or something and wanted to get some rest. Once she and Linda got inside, Gina put an old Eagles CD on the stereo while Linda searched for a corkscrew in the kitchen. Gina felt terrible about the whole toilet incident at Penelope’s. Why would she do that to a friend? She wasn’t sure what came over her. Somehow she was just overcome with misery and jealousy and lost her head.
“Look in the first drawer next to the fridge,” Gina called to Linda before plopping down on the sofa. Gomez jumped up next to her and starting digging into the sofa upholstery, as he was prone to do from time to time. Over the years, Gina had reprimanded him numerous times, but to no avail, and finally gave up.
“That’s it, Gomez. Tear up the sofa, good boy,” she muttered toward the dog with an utter lack of enthusiasm.
“You never keep stuff in the same place,” Linda said, returning to the living room with an opened bottle of pink wine, two glasses, and a bag of Chips Ahoy.
“I know. I’m terrible. I just dump the silverware basket from the dishwasher into whatever drawer has the most room. I organized the drawers once. I even bought one of those plastic tubs to separate the knives from the forks and stuff. That lasted about a week.”
“I bet Penelope has everything perfectly organized in her kitchen. All those country geese made me want to puke,” Linda snapped, sipping her wine and opening the bag of cookies.
“Bitch. I hate her.... Don’t you ever tell anyone I said that,” Gina said to Linda, feeling a bit guilty for talking about one of their friends like that. “I don’t hate her. It’s just not fair. She has everything I want,” she added before turning her attention to Gomez, who had since hopped off the sofa and was on his hind legs, begging for cookies. “No, Gomez, you’re not allowed to have cookies.”
“God, we’re pathetic, Gina. Sitting here at midnight on a Wednesday, drinking wine and trashing one of our friends.”
“I know. I’m just so tired of everyone’s life taking off but mine. Virtually everyone I went to high school or college with is married, and some already have kids. I hate all of them. Bitches,” Gina hissed, raising her voice a little. She looked at the dog again, who was now slightly whimpering. “No! Gomez, cookies aren’t good for little doggies.”
“You! Well, at least there’s hope for you. Even if I find Ms. Right, I’m legally barred from getting married. How do you think it makes me feel to see all of our friends settle down and start families? That’s why I just couldn’t bear going to Penelope’s wedding.”
“What? You weren’t really sick? Why didn’t you tell me?” Gina asked, sounding surprised.
“I was embarrassed . . . am embarrassed. I don’t want to be known as some angry dyke who can’t be happy for her friends,” Linda said, staring at the floor.
“Well, I’m certainly no better. She asked me to be a frickin bridesmaid, and I snubbed her. I’m sure she knew I was lying about not being sure I could make it. I don’t think she was mad though. I think she felt sorry for me. I hate that more than anything. Penelope Weils feeling sorry for me . . . Bitch,” Gina said as she handed a cookie to the dog.
“Yeah, that’s the worst.”
“Well, I guess we’re both pathetic, but it’s not like we tried to hurt her or anything,” Gina responded, dropping a few more cookies on the floor for Gomez to gobble up.
Linda sat quietly for a minute before responding. “Actually, I think I did mean to hurt her, a little anyway. I know I was never as close to her as you were, but it must be bothersome to get married with one of your good friends absent. Part of me wanted to upset her on her wedding day. I wanted to make her feel some of the pain I feel on a daily basis. Here she was, proclaiming her relationship with Donny in front of a few hundred people, and I can’t even hold hands with a date in public without running the risk of being jeered or even physically attacked. It makes me so mad sometimes. Maybe I did want her to hurt. Everything else in her life was coming together so perfectly. She deserved to feel a little pain.” Linda was starting to well up at this point and stopped talking to avoid a total breakdown. She didn’t usually discuss things like this with Gina. How could she possibly understand?
Gina was seeing a part of Linda that only very rarely surfaced. Gina saw Linda’s eyes beginning to water just a little and wasn’t sure what to do. Linda always seemed so together. She was never in a bad mood and was always rather even-keeled and organized. She was Gina’s “sensible lesbian friend.” This was one of the few times since they met in high school that Gina had ever seen her like this. Linda rarely let down her guard in front of anyone. Linda was usually Gina’s rock. Gina was the one whose life was always a mess. Even in high school Gina usually had her feathers ruffled over something, and Linda would be there to cheer her up and tell Gina how ridiculous she was being about not having a date to the latest dance or not getting invited to weekend parties. Linda never seemed to worry about having a date for the homecoming dance or not getting asked to the prom. It wasn’t until after high school that Gina learned why.
Gina couldn’t honestly say she was shocked by the news of Linda’s homosexuality. She had suspected it for some time but figured Linda would tell her when she was ready. One night, about a year after they graduated high school, they had been drinking and were sitting on the floor in Gina’s dorm room at American. At some point during the night, Gina, frustrated with her love life, joked that she may as well become a lesbian, and how much easier it would be if she were a lesbian. When Linda immediately fired off upward of ten reasons why it most certainly would not be easier, Gina started to get a clue. She remembered Linda telling her that if common estimates we
re right, lesbians were lucky to have five percent of the population from which to choose a life partner. She went on to explain that if only ten percent of the population was gay, and half of that population was men, that left lesbians with a meager five percent of the world to pick a mate. Linda assured Gina that she had much better odds with the forty-five percent of the general public that consisted of straight men.
Now, sitting next to Linda while the rain continued to pour outside, Gina didn’t quite know what to say. She looked at Linda, who was about to cry while “Hotel California” played in the background.
She considered telling Linda that she was the one who purposely made the toilet overflow at Penelope’s party. She thought it might make Linda feel better if Gina reminded her that she did pathetic things as well. Gina decided against it though. Bailing on a friend’s wedding because you’re gay was about a “4” on the pathetic scale, while stuffing toilet paper down the can at a party was a solid “10.” No, Gina was keeping that little tidbit of information to herself.
“God, Linda. I didn’t know you had it in you. So there is an evil bone or two in that body of yours. Thank God,” Gina said with a little giggle, trying to break the tension.
Linda managed a slight laugh as she wiped her eyes.
“God, Gina, we need to get it together, girl, or Penelope isn’t going to be the only one feeling sorry for us.”
Change of Heart
Cheryl was at home, sitting at her desk and trying to balance her checkbook online. She was growing weary of all the numbers and decided she would give Peter a quick call. She hadn’t talked to him since the night Gina barged in on them a couple of weeks earlier. Cheryl hadn’t gotten any sex since that night and, with any luck, Peter might be equally horny and invite her over. She looked at the time displayed on her monitor. It was just after midnight. She knew it was a little late to be calling him, especially for a weeknight, but she figured she’d give it a shot anyway.
Girlfriends Page 9
